


He who calls Divine the Judgement he sows, will reap it no less sentenced by Death.

by judaswhims



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 1st person melodramatic rant, Feverish power trip, a lot of underlying religious irony, because it’s written down, feverish inner monologue, god of the new world‘s father issues, it’ll be lonely won’t it?, take his hand through pure madness at your will, “Godlike Reverie”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judaswhims/pseuds/judaswhims
Summary: Contesting with my reflection (again).If I stare too long, I almost stop recognising it as my own ..
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	He who calls Divine the Judgement he sows, will reap it no less sentenced by Death.

Contesting with my reflection (again).  
If I stare too long, I almost stop recognising it as my own. 

What is this tingling at the tip of my fingers? A certifying omen of my triumph? Internalised hysteria? Whichever. I’ll use both to my own gain. For humanity’s sake, I’ll use anything and anyone to my own gain. 

Even if I can’t remember the last time I (genuinely) smiled — Ha! Spares my complexion of wrinkles. It’s only fitting of a God to depict eternal youth after all. But I’ve aged .. is my proud soul, mind of righteous doom becoming one with this porcelain vessel at last? Readying for my ascension, it can only be. Because time has not a second to waste and nor do I. The nonstop ticking of my watch resonates in my mind. It’s unnerving and soothing at the same time but when I turn my eyes inward for a fleeting evasion from reality, my skull is red. Stark like it never was before. A vivid canvas engulfing my absolute utopia. Divine. And I can reflect it outward. I can, I am and I will. I’ll paint this neglected world with my blessings and sacrifices. With justice. For there is none of it but me. **There is only me** .. 

For **40 seconds** I rehearse this all in my head and for 40 seconds more I reassert my resolution. My heart skips a beat each round. Still, I’m unable to move a single muscle of my face. Rather transfigure myself into the high throne where I’m sitting. I don’t dare look away from the obfuscated **light** imprisoned in the glass before me. **(I’m) ethereal**. **(I’m) overpowering**. And it’d be a sin to look away. I know and that’s why tears threaten to fall and I can’t feel them because they’re not there. They shouldn’t be there. My own reflection dazzles me, seemingly so distant. Yet the message is clear. Almost burlesque if it wasn’t self-reassuring: _«mourning is futile and human and you are a GOD.»_ **But before I am god, I was a martyr** so I let the tears sting. I want to break free from this corporeal shell. I want to rip at this flesh so my wings will sprout at once. I can almost feel them. Imposing and untouchable. The touch of King Midas clinging at its ends, dripping down my back .. my chin. It burns. As it should. For they were made for me solely because no one else can withstand it all. 

I won’t surrender to anyone. Not even myself. Or whoever stares back at me. A reflection of this mortal vessel. **An impostor**. Much like anything else, I‘d had already anticipated the shiver it cast down my spine before it shapeshiftted before my resolute gaze. A pair of coal eyes piercing through every layer of my being, as sharp as ever. But no longer accusatory —- yet, pitying. I never dreaded them more before. Six (6) feet deep under and still a childish sore-loser. ”Stop haunting me, L. I won.” Gone as quickly as he came. If it’s a product of my head or the so-called curse of aftermath, I only know it’s always the same. And I’m a fool for letting the ghost of my enemy get to me. Get exactly what he wanted. Force me to face what would make me vulnerable. What would make me human: **penance**. In his place stands the man that brought me into this world. Named me after the prodigious moon, initially a special fickle that would steadily flare into their remarkable guiding light. My blood. My idol once. But his only son was (is) too brilliant. Though he smiled proudly at his father’s sense of justice and teachings, he could see through the illusion and automatically discern all the injustices. It hurt. No matter how gifted. In fact, because _he_ is outstandingly gifted, to acknowledge the inevitability of his own impotence hurt so. At some point it hurt more to fully accept no one, not even his family would ever understand. “Old fool ..” He’s perceived it from a very young age. Too young. The way he’s (I’m) surrounded by the foul and the blind. And how he had to pretend he wasn’t all his life. 

_Tell me, Light.  
from the moment you were born,  
has there ever been a point where you’ve actually told the truth?_

I don’t know what’s worse. That he’d dare bring back the question or that I just had to hear it a second time out of the mirage of my progenitor’s mouth. And it doesn’t stop reverberating in his voice. Only that it’s not. As if I’d ever given Soichiro Yagami a reason to sound disappointed at his perfect son. It’s disrespectful. It’s aggravating. Stop .. STOP. STAY DEAD. I WON. JUSTICE WON. 

L’s death was mandatory. My father’s was inevitable. If not now then he’d do it by his own hands once Kira was globally authenticated, forced to witness his oh-so innocent son ascend in their place. It was better this way. My fingers reach the glass, vibrating under the calloused pads. "Don’t look at me like that. We’re not the same. We never truly were. You gave me life so I could do this. So I could make a change. I’m the only one that can. I have to. I will. Father .. Yagami Soichiro. I’ll be fine. Rest now." 

I open the window before the glass could melt under my touch and step out into the darkness. **Heavenly**. **Radiant**. The cold breeze caresses my face and dries the trails of wax. I look up. It’s raining weakly but the drops all vaporise around me. **I’m untouchable**. **I’m inextinguishable**. And I want the whole world to know. My perfect world to see me rise on the edge of my stage. **Fearlessly**. **Graciously** stand on the brim of the marble wall. Like a sublime acrobat. Like an ethereal dancer. The calculation in my swaying, the compelling stretching of my arms. I twist and turn and win. **And win**.  
I bend 90 degrees and throw my head all the way to face the starless sky. My fledgling world is upside down and it still makes perfect sense in my terrific mind.  
The magnificence of it all tickles at my throat and I can’t hold the need for jubilation at my own supremacy. Carrying the entirety of humanity, my arms spread wide. My mouth curls and I can free my godlike mirth. Loud and clear. Just and divine! I convulse wilfully but never stagger. 

I AM THE WATCHER IN THE SKIES AND I LAUGH UNDER THE WEEPING MOON. 

And if I fall, my halo won’t break. And if I slip, my legacy will immortalise me. Adrenaline rushes. I hold my breath. My wings itch. Assure me only this mortal vessel will meet the surface. _How I’ve always wanted to fly_ ..  
Like the promissory flap of a butterfly my eyes flutter close, lashes get stuck in the wax and I let darkness lull me into fulfilling numbness. 

〝 It truly is a blessing and a curse ..  
to be ( your own ) God and Humanity’s Martyr. 〞 

And if any of my disciples or foe tries to stop me now .. I’m not the world’s most heartless and sensitive man for nothing. I’ll give them a fair taste of my solemn jurisdiction. Let them choose weather to go down with me and watch me ascend absolute. Or be spared from their sins by my own righteous hands. 

But no one dares cross that line. No one would succeed. It would be **blasphemous**. It would be **inhumane**. They know. And I’m falling for them. As _their_ **Messiah**. For their desperate prayers through history. **As their sturdy candle**. Shining out the darkness. Guiding their condemned souls. Gradually. Blissfully. **The ultimate sacrifice**. **I’m falling** through space and time where my law flares and reigns! The ultimate utopia. I can feel it expanding between my fingers. Cradling me in gratitude for its uprising. In devotion for its deliverance. Swallowing me as its one and only creator, caretaker and authority. It was meant for me. It was meant to be. I’m falling. Righteous. And I want to hear them chanting from the bottom of their emancipated hearts. _LORD_. From the core of their vulnerable souls. Preaching for me as I let **nothingness** take me. _KIRA_. For their sake. For humanity’s sake. **I’m burning**. My arms remain open, carrying each and one of their lives. The sinners and the saints and whatever stands in between. Until the very end. Until my wings sprout. But I never meet the surface. **I’m melting**. Inside out. But not away. Rather into the nature of every thing that shapes this world. For I am its one and only God. **Omnipotent. Omniscient. Omnipresent** — all powerful. all knowing. all present — **for eternity**. Golden magma fills my lungs and I know it’s a result of my own incontestable incandescence. I can’t breathe. I can’t answer to my followers. I can’t laugh in the face of my enemies. For the first time ever, _I can’t see_. Revelling in such overwhelm, I can’t muffle the until-then remote verdict: **who is there to save The Saviour when he falls?** _Ironic_ laughter echoes down the endless black hole below me. I recognise it as my own. If it’s a echo of my prior jubilation, it means there is a bottom after all. I wonder what waits there. But that could only be me. Because I am the only one worth of propelling myself into the skies. And the previous question has its solemn answer: **Who is there to save _me_? I am. **And gasp a last time in perseverance. My chest swells. An awful sting sporadically takes over my heart before I can feel the sweat rolling down my brow. Hair clinging to my sharp cheeks. Uneven breath. _A feverish dream_. Barely can I recall the last time I’ve had one as I slowly regain my senses. But then again, anything before the last 6 years seems very distant to me. My vision blurs out. I can see again. I can breathe again. Warm rays welcome me back. Leisurely my feet meet the cold ground and I almost levitate. _A rattle of chains_. Awfully familiar. Awfully soothing to the mind. It’s been like this ever since. Calls for me and I follow instinctively like I’ve never followed anyone but myself before. Forces me to greet the reflection in the mirror. Almost like a ritual. A need for purification after the fall. **The morning star**. In _his _blood, flesh and bone. In all its early day _light_. This time I look away. I have to. It was all a dream. The rattle of chains pull me again and I’m walking towards the same window of my feverish reveries. When did I open it? I’m already outside. Barefoot. Shirt loose. Heart beating. Mind riveting. Mystified by all my glory and plight. Oh so gratefully stoic for both the ruins of the dystopia that crumble before my utopic ideals and those that are yet to righteously ruin. Slowly, surely .. I have fallen in my dreams to catch myself again. **Someone has to, so why not me? Is there anyone else but me?** They know I speak to them. The eerie breeze carries my rhetoric to each one of them. In this new world order, where no one is spared of divine judgment, I can listen to it all. The 7 deadly sins crawling in the dark and all that’s good and pure taken for granted all this time __

___"I can hear them, Ryuk. " A crunch of an apple answers me. Blasphemous, as it should be. As it was meant to be from the very start. " **The bells**. " ___


End file.
